


Illusions

by Velvedere



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Drabble, M/M, POV First Person, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvedere/pseuds/Velvedere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One would think someone known as Liesmith would be content with less than the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusions

The most unfortunate thing about illusions is that's all they are: illusions.

They're not real.

They lack something. Perhaps it's a soul. Perhaps it's free will. Perhaps it's merely that ability to take a person by surprise. To steal their breath away with something genuine.

Illusions only do what they're told to do.

Evening sunlight melts on the walls, making my chambers seem an endless downward stream of thick gold paint dripping its way towards night.

You're just within reach.

Fingertips reach out. They touch soft lips. Warm hair. A bare chest.

The golden walls inside the palace suit you. They compliment the light you radiate. They lift it up, celebrated. A thing to be envied.

But it's not really you here. It's an illusion.

The barest shade of a phantom beside the real light of your smile.

One would think someone known as Liesmith would be content with less than the truth.

The sacred. The righteous. Those are my targets. Those things that cry out to be dashed to the ground, their pride and prattling smashed on the rocks now and again.

But there are some things I don't wish to defile.

I brush my hand against your cheek. The rough scratch of your beard is real to every sense. The illusion responds as I wish it to: a nuzzle into my palm. A capture. A kiss.

But it isn't real.

This ghost of your only self would do anything I commanded.

Perhaps, in that way, it is like you.

With but a thought it would fall with me into bed, and there I could spend eons lost in the pleasure of your reflection.

But it wouldn't be real.

And predictability is dull.

I move my hand. The illusion dissipates like a sigh.

Your smile is the last thing to fade, in magic and in memory.

I go to the window instead. The sun is near setting. Red and burnt orange vie to keep control of the skies while blue-green and purple nebulas – only visible at night – try to wrest it away.

I see you in the courtyard. Your true self. Mounted and armored. Ready to ride into the stars at the head of your warriors to face whatever latest threat awaits you among the cosmos.

You laugh with them, trading jests. Crossing arms to stave off the anxiety of waiting.

I wonder if you could capture any more the image of valor.

You catch sight of me, and smile as you wave.

I lift my hand to return the gesture.

I won't be accompanying you. Stay home, Loki. Practice your magic. This is a task for warriors.

Words I've heard before.

Is that my task, then? To sit and feel? To be lulled to sleep by the sound of horse hooves until you're lost to distance, only to dream you safely home?

You should know I could never be so content.

I watch you and your band ride away. The Bifrost guides you. It too supports your glory and purpose with every shining step.

I wait until you're just out of sight, then slip the falcon-guise over my head.

I've found something I want to protect.

I will not let you fall before me, brother.


End file.
